


Holding Out For A Hero

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Series: Stories about Shine [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1980s, Bonnie Tyler, Drinking, Gay Bar, M/M, Music, Original Character(s), Past Drug Use, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: Shine Trzebinski is tired. He has loved and lost and had his fun, and as he looks forward to the most exclusive performance of his career he finds himself wishing he just had someone to share it with. Who could expect he'd find that someone in a stranger, drowning his sorrows in a Manhattan gay bar at 3 a.m.?Set in New York City, November, 1985.*This story briefly mentions the events ofThe Silence After Song,Little Light of MineandBetter Than Thisbut you don't have to read any of those to understand this one.





	Holding Out For A Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's day!! Figured I had to post the great Valen/Shine meeting on Valentine's day 'cause their ship name is officially ValenShine. Haha! Enjoy!

**November, 1985**

 

Nearly a decade ago, with all the confidence of youth, Shine had told his lover, Harry, that he had a dream to play violin at Carnegie Hall someday. Supportive as he usually was of Shine’s music, Harry had been cruel in that moment, though perhaps unintentionally, and not in a way Shine had identified as cruelty at the time. “There's no career out there for a pop violinist,” he had said sweetly, brushing Shine's hair behind his ear. “But if you pursue the classics, join an orchestra, who knows. Maybe you will get to the Hall someday.”

 

In the days leading up to the most exclusive and anticipated performance of Shine’s career thus far (if nowhere near the largest), Shine recalled that conversation again and again. While getting ready in the mornings, he might chuckle around his toothbrush; while sitting in the car watching the city slide by through tinted windows, he might grin at his reflection -- admiring the Gucci sunglasses and perfectly coiffed hair his fame afforded him. More than once he had considered calling Martha and asking her to send a personalized invitation to now-Senator Harold Patterson. The unspoken message attached:  _ Eat your words. _

 

But Harry had eaten his words three years ago, when Shine had seen him for the final time. And Shine didn’t even want _ thoughts _ of Harry to ruin this for him now, let alone the man himself. So he forced Harry from his mind the best he could, and tried to focus on the present.

 

The year was 1985. Shine was 26 years old. And he would be playing a concert at Carnegie Hall in two days.

 

Harry hadn’t exactly been wrong to assume, back then, that it was a pipe dream. Carnegie Hall wasn’t usually the venue for pop music, nor was pop music usually the genre for violin. But Shine’s pop-fusion style, refined now with three albums to his credit, existed in a limbo between radio waves and concert halls, and somehow he had made a name for himself there. He had armies of fans, platinum records on the wall of his living room alongside framed covers of  _ Smash Hits, Record Mirror, People, Newsweek _ , all bearing his face. 

 

By all accounts, he had made it, and often it felt that way, but the cliché of lonely fame rang true for him more often than not these days. Sometimes he  _ did _ feel lonely, and sometimes – in spite of the closure he thought he had -- he thought of calling Harry or his old friends or his old flames or someone, anyone, to ease it.

 

Tonight, two days before the performance of his dreams, Shine lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He watched the fan twist lazily, casting shadows against the white. The whole apartment lay silent, but for the creak when he shifted slightly on the mattress, and he found himself conscious of the fact that every room would be silent right now. Four bedrooms, empty, immaculate, all for himself. Extravagant by any standard, even Shine's. 

 

He wished his mother were here.

 

It came upon him suddenly as a car crash, like tires screeching on asphalt and the inevitable impact of crumpling steel. He wished his mother were here. If only so she could see where he was now, so she could affix his  _ Newsweek _ cover to the fridge with a fat plastic magnet, the way she used to do with his childhood drawings. So she could sit in a nice new dress in the front row at Carnegie Hall and recognize that all her sacrifices had been worth it. 

 

But she wasn’t here, and she wouldn’t see him, and he had been a nobody when she took her last breath. A barely recovered drug addict who could’ve used the tragedy of her death as an excuse to slip back into old habits. He almost had.

 

Now, Shine lifted his hand to the ceiling, tracing the line of his arm, examining the faded, puckered scars. Clean. How long had he been clean?

 

Heroin, six years. Three for ecstasy. Two for cocaine. The cocaine was the worst of the mistakes, due mostly to its provider -- Jade, who had wheedled Shine into his first high with a deep kiss and the promise of a good fuck. It  _ had _ been a good fuck, a year of good fucks, actually. But Jade was gone with the coke, cut out from Shine’s life like he’d severed a limb. The phantom pains were mostly gone, now.

 

Then of course, the booze. Two days he had gone without that, but Shine had never really  _ tried _ to get over drinking, nor did he typically indulge in excess, though there were some notable exceptions. Drinking was as close as he ever came to recreating that weightless feeling he got from all the drugs he’d purged from his system — including Jade.

 

Booze. That was an idea. Shine turned his head to the side, the clock on his bedside table. It was only a little after midnight, and his favorite bars — the places dark enough he wouldn’t be recognized until he was lip-locked with someone on the dance floor — were open all night. Better than the booze, even, he figured he might find some company there. Someone to distract him from his own thoughts for a night. He could always use the distraction.

 

Shine rolled onto his side and grabbed the phone from the table, dialing in the number of his driving agency. Someone was always on-call for him. One of many perks of the life he got to live now.

 

“Claudia?” He said when she answered. “Yeah, you mind bringing the car around? I’m thinkin’ Bettie’s tonight.”

 

Shine chose his haunts carefully. He had to as a matter of survival. Most trendy clubs in the city would, at some point, end up with one of his songs on the speakers, which had excited him at one point in his career. Now it just made him uncomfortable, made him feel like every eye in the club turned his way whether they knew he was there or not. But on the other end of the spectrum, dive bars could be dangerous for people like him. Though he had never considered himself “gay,” the matter stood that he looked like he was, and he acted like he was, and his clear preference for men was, well,  _ clear _ to anyone who looked. He liked to share his bed with all sorts, but that was as weak a defense as any in an environment where men drank dark beer and glared from under baseball cap brims at the purple-haired twink with earrings studding his lobes.

 

So Shine often stuck to gay bars out of safety, where he could blend in, where no one wanted to admit they had been and so couldn’t blow his scant cover.

 

Tonight, it was Bettie’s, a dingy Manhattan dance club in a basement unobtrusive enough to keep its reputation ambiguous, if not nonexistent. Claudia didn’t ask questions along the way, knowing his hangouts and habits well, and she didn’t ask questions when she dropped him off either. To his credit, Shine had tried to invite her inside -- “Come with me,” Shine had said as he stepped out of the car, “I’ll introduce you to the owner; she’s single.” -- but Claudia declined, as she always did. She didn’t like it when Shine pretended they were friends, whether or not they shared the same secrets.

 

So she drove off.

 

Shine stood out there in the cold for a couple minutes after her brakelights had faded away. Without a coat, his exposed arms immediately prickled with goosebumps, and a biting wind nipped at his cheeks and exposed belly. But, in spite of how sure he’d been on the way to the bar tonight, he began to second-guess actually going inside. He might just walk a while instead, or hail a cab and head back home, waste the body glitter.

 

Because, in his heart, he knew this was stupid. Another habit almost as bad as the drugs -- what he always did when he got restless, lonely -- and it wasn’t good for him anymore. But old habits died hard, and Shine didn’t know what to do with loneliness but to ease it with people. Crowds of them, if he could find them.

 

So as the gray clouds over the moon began to shed snow, tiny flakes caught in the headlights of passing cars, he made a promise to himself. He’d go dance, drink, purge his energy, but he wouldn’t go home with anyone tonight. The dancing could be a distraction; the flirting and the booze could ease the loneliness. And he’d go home and pass out and wake up to a brand new day tomorrow. Maybe that was all he needed. 

 

Assured by his own conviction, Shine cupped his hands and held them to his lips to warm them before reaching for the frozen handle of the club’s thick steel door. 

 

The narrow stairs beyond were scuffed with a thousand footfalls, the hallway lined with stickers and old concert posters, the music getting louder with each step he took downward, shaking the walls and pounding satisfyingly in the soles of his shoes.

 

Once he reached the warm respite of the club, once he flagged down the bartender, Louie, and ordered himself a Mai Tai, once he caught the eyes of a couple guys on the dance floor and flashed them shining smiles in return, he already began to feel better. People  _ liked  _ Shine -- or at least liked to look at him, and God he loved being liked.

 

What felt like forever and a moment passed as Shine lost himself to the movement of the dance floor, drink in-hand the whole time. Flashing lights faded in and out of his eyes, music half-deafened him, and he danced out his frustrations as if fighting against a current. It felt wonderful. 

 

Throughout the night, a few men grabbed him by the waist or the wrist or the shirt collar as he danced, strong hands holding him close, breath ghosting over his lips, and Shine had let them do what they wanted for a time. He could drown in the intoxication of being wanted, of moving with someone pressed up against him. And if any of these guys had seen his face on  _ The Tonight Show _ or MTV, they didn’t say a damn word. 

 

On most nights, that would be ideal, but the restless energy, though abated, didn’t leave him fully no matter how much he danced -- the nerves and odd introspection -- and he wanted something else tonight. If only he could name it. So when those men went in for a kiss or when their hands moved intentionally lower down his body, he pulled away with a little, contrite smile, a silent signal he wouldn’t go farther than the dance floor with any them. He couldn’t help feeling a little proud every time. Some of these guys were tempting, but they all left him alone or found each other as the night wore on.

 

The bar began to empty around 2 a.m., and by 3 Shine was one of the last still enjoying the music, whirling around on his own while others drifted and swayed drunkenly at the sidelines. A few more bodies may have taken seats at the bar, but since Shine had yet to finish his fourth-or-so cocktail, he hadn’t paid much attention.

 

Then, Bonnie Tyler happened, as she tended to do. Bonnie Tyler didn’t ‘come on the radio.’ Bonnie Tyler didn’t ‘just start playing.’ Bonnie Tyler  _ happened _ , as inevitable and irresistible as a hurricane, an earthquake, leaving a dance floor of destruction in her wake. And when Bonnie Tyler happened, she happened  _ to _ Shine.

 

The first notes of “Holding Out for a Hero” hit him like a line of coke, and Shine lifted his glass in the air, whooping at the bored-looking DJ in his booth right off the floor. The man gave him an indulgent look and turned back to his records, but Shine was too caught-up to care. He spun as if he were a record himself, hit every beat with the sway of his hips, and cast around for someone to join him. 

 

_ Where have all the good men gone _ , Bonnie asked, and Shine wondered the same. The only guys left near the dance floor were the old drunk queens who’d been leering at him all night without bothering to even _ try _ to talk to him, and the only guys at the bar last time Shine had looked were the same regulars he’d seen here a few times before, who didn’t do much but drink and pass around awkward flirtations before disappearing throughout the night in pairs. 

 

So Shine danced on his own for a minute, losing himself to the music, before he wheeled toward the bar through the chorus and saw someone who certainly hadn’t been there last time Shine had looked. Shine would’ve noticed this man.

 

_ And he’s gotta be larger than life, larger than life _ , Bonnie cried, and he  _ was _ . He sat at the bar with a curved back, staring into his drink, thick shoulders under an old flannel shirt, thick, muscled arms resting on the bar. He wore his long auburn hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and he fingered a glass of amber liquid as though deep in thought. Aside from the fact that he probably would’ve stood about seven feet tall, setting him easily apart from everyone else, he looked like he didn’t belong here. He obviously hadn’t come here  _ with  _ anyone — a few stools separated him from any other patrons. He looked lonely, contemplative, even sad.

 

Shine, inebriated as he was, and overcome with the wailing longing of Bonnie Tyler’s effect on him, fell instantly in love. If the guys he had been dancing with earlier had been tempting, this man was a well lit bakery window full of delicate confections, coaxing passersby from the street. Somehow, no one looked to have waltzed through those doors yet, and Shine would be damned if he passed up this handsome bastard while he had the chance.

 

He gulped the last of his drink and made his way over to the bar, swaying a little on his feet.

 

_ Somewhere after midnight, in my wildest fantasy, somewhere just beyond my reach is someone reaching back for me _ , Bonnie sang, and Shine caught the bartender’s eye. Louie shook his head, mouthed the word ‘no,’ but Shine just winked and moved on, goal in sight.

 

_ It’s gonna take a superman to sweep me off my fee-eeeeet. _

 

“Hey, big guy,” Shine said, settling backwards into the stool beside the man, leaning an elbow on the bar. He liked to pretend he never  _ displayed _ himself, but he was secure enough to admit that this was as close to it as he got. He knew his T-shirt would be pulled tight along his chest, the lines of his body on clear view as he lounged, a strip of belly visible between the hem of his shirt and the low waistband of his jeans. The man looked to him, but his gaze didn’t seem to linger anywhere in particular, to Shine's disappointment. Not that he  _ intended _ to go home with anyone tonight, Shine reminded himself.

 

“Ah, hello, can I help you with something?”

 

Shine nearly melted. The man’s accent (Irish? Scottish? Too early to tell) curled around the words gently, and his eyes glinted green in the dim bar light.

 

“Well,” Shine said, nodding toward the dance floor. “I’m missing a dance partner, looks like. Wanna join?”

 

The man’s lips ticked in a small smile. “Ah, no, no thank you. I’m not much for dancing.”

 

Definitely Irish. Bless the Emerald Isle.

 

“Then what’re you doing at a dance club?” Shine stumbled over the words a little inelegantly. He recognized he he had gotten pretty tipsy, but the man hadn’t told him to leave just yet. That was permission enough to get curious. “No offense, big guy,” Shine tacked on, “but you don’t look like this is your scene.”

 

“You’re right,” the man said, shrugging. “I don’t drink, typically. I just needed a bar, an’ if you can believe it, there aren’t many open this late. I walked a while and…” he held out his arms a little, the ice clinking in his glass.

 

Shine straightened, an instinctive alarm bell ringing, suddenly understanding why Louie had given him a warning look. This man didn’t look gay. Of course, plenty of gay people didn’t  _ look _ gay, but it was possible that he was some lost heterosexual who wandered into the wrong bar. Depending on this man’s character, and taking into account his stature alone, that could be dangerous.

 

But Shine, intoxicated as he was, didn’t think about that in time to stop himself from saying it. “You do know this is a gay bar, right?”

 

The man straightened on his stool, looking around as if seeing the place for the first time. How could he have missed the rainbow flag over the dance floor, or the fact that Shine and at least two other patrons (all of whom were men) wore belly shirts? 

 

“Aye, so it is,” he said. He looked back to Shine, maybe noticing the caution in his eyes. Maybe not. “A bar’s a bar.” Opaque though it was, it made Shine relax minutely. He wasn’t saying he  _ wasn’t _ gay.

 

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” Shine said, his smile returning. “But this is a pretty good one to wander into, I’d say. Better music than most, at least. What’s your story then? Bad night?” He nodded to the drink in the man’s hand, setting his own empty glass on the bar. 

 

“Oh, yes,” the man said. “You’re having a good night, though. Don’t let me keep you from dancing.” 

 

Shine glanced back to the floor as the last ‘oohs’ faded from his recent favorite song. “Naw,” he said, waving his hand. “I been dancing for  _ hours _ .” Twisting on the stool, he mirrored the man’s position, setting his elbows on the bar if only so he could tilt his head to look at the man through his lashes. “Buy me a drink, big guy?” He said this with a flutter of those lashes, and the man gave him a small smile. If Shine had been any less drunk, he would have recognized a hint of trepidation in it.

 

“Wait now, how old are ya? Clearly you’ve already tossed back a few, but I won’t be responsible for further delinquency.” 

 

That made Shine sit up. “I'm 26,” he said with mock indignation. He wasn’t exactly used to drinking partners checking his ID. Last one had been Harry, when he legitimately  _ had _ been too young to partake. “Ain’t been accused of delinquency in a while, but, you know, been guilty of it here and there.” He nudged the man with his elbow. “What’s your name anyways?”

 

The man hesitated for a half second, but held out a massive hand all the same. “Valen Dougherty.”

 

Shine took Valen’s hand, cold from cradling its glass, and shook, offering his most charming smile. “Shine,” he introduced himself -- and immediately winced. “Yeah,” he added, heading it off at the pass. “Yeah, okay,  _ that _ Shine, but listen I ain’t come here to talk about work.”

 

“Are --” Valen looked around. “Are there many men named Shine? Which one is ‘that’?”

 

Shine stared at him. “Shine? As in ‘I only have one name ‘cause I’m basically Madonna’ Shine? Do you -- do you listen to music?”

 

“Glenn Miller, mostly,” Valen replied, clearly lost. “Are you a musician, then?”

 

Shine felt his smile spreading wide, something thrumming in his heart. “You don’t know who I am,” he said, a tone of wonder and reverence in his voice. Valen gave him a confused look, but Shine just laughed, a feeling of freedom washing over him that he hadn’t felt in years. “Forget about it,” he said cheerily, “I’ll take that drink now, big guy.”

 

“Alright,” Valen said cautiously, and he waved to get the attention of Louie, who, Shine realized, was already looking at him -- concerned, indignant, perplexed. Shine winked at him again, and he seemed to break out of a reverie, wandering over. 

 

“What can I do for you?” Louie asked slowly. 

 

“Apparently I’m buying the little fella a drink,” Valen said, nodding toward Shine’s empty glass.

 

“He’s buying me a drink, Louie,” Shine reiterated, grinning with triumph, and it was a testament to Louie’s patience that he simply took in a deep breath, took the glass from the bar and nodded.

 

“Right, then. Another Mai Tai?” 

 

Shine nodded enthusiastically, then turned back to Valen, setting his cheek in his hand. “Thanks, big guy. That was real sweet of you. So tell me about yourself. What’re you doing here at Bettie’s at 3 in the damn morning?”

 

“It was too late to run my power tools.” Valen said, glancing down at his drink. His eyebrows drew tight together. 

 

“Your what now?”

 

“My power tools,” Valen repeated. “Usually if I’m sad, my options are either drink or build a table. Sometimes both, to be frank. Can’t build a table this time of day without wakin’ the neighbors, so, here we are.”

 

Currently indulging in one himself, Shine supposed there were worse coping mechanisms than making furniture, though it made him wonder like a sickness what the hell kind of person just  _ built a table _ when they were upset.

 

“That bad a night, huh?” Shine asked, prioritizing his curiosity. “What’s goin’ on, big guy? C’mon, you can tell me about it. Consider me your drunken therapist.”

 

Louie, sliding Shine’s drink toward him over the bar, gave Shine a very pointed look. “Not everyone wants to talk to you, Shine,” he said, and Shine’s smile fell.

 

“No, no, it’s alright,” Valen said, maybe noticing that -- in spite of its truth -- the comment hurt Shine a little more than it would’ve if he had been sober and feeling any less vulnerable than he was tonight. “Louie, was it? Thank you for the drink, Louie. I think I’ll be sticking to the one.”

 

Louie gave Valen a tight smile, and turned one more cautionary glance Shine’s way. “Enjoy,” he said flatly, and wandered back over to the other patrons. 

 

Shine turned his attention back to his unexpected companion, affixing his smile once more. “Thanks, big guy,” he said, and he held up his drink. “Cheers! To, uh…” he paused. “To choosing the _ right bar _ .” As Valen lifted his own glass in reluctant return, Shine nudged the orange slice out of the way and took a sip. 

 

Valen followed suit, and Shine watched those lips set around the delicate rim of the glass. “Now what was we talkin’ about?” Shine asked, distracted, but luckily he remembered before Valen had to fill it in. “Right! You’re sad. Tell your buddy Shine all about it, big guy.” He crossed his arms on the bar and fixed Valen with the most serious look he was capable of wearing.

 

“Mr. uh, Shine, it is very kind of you to offer your ear,” Valen said, swirling the drink around absently. “Honestly, though, the best favor you could be doing me right now is to do all the talking for me. The distraction would be a blessing.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, Shine considered that. “‘Cause you don’t know me, I’m just lettin’ you know that might be a real dangerous request. I got more stamina for talkin’ than I do for dancin’ and that’s sayin’ a lot.”

 

“Turns out I don’t have stamina for either,” Valen said with a shrug and a small smile.

 

“Opposites attract,” Shine said sweetly, nudging Valen’s hand slightly with his own. “I always been a talker, even when I was a shy kid. You can’t see me as a shy kid, can ya?” Shine laughed. “No one can!”

 

“You certainly don’t seem very shy now.”

 

“Naw,” Shine said, waving a hand. “Can’t be shy when you’re on stage all the time. Or when you’re tryin’ to impress a handsome guy.” He winked, and Valen’s eyes widened slightly. He glanced to each of his sides, as if to see  _ which _ handsome guy Shine was trying to impress. When he seemed to realize that Shine was actually talking about  _ him _ , he drew himself up, his eyebrows knitting in a gentle look of curiosity.

 

“So what do you do, then, big guy?” Shine asked. “Pro bodybuilder? Model?”

 

With a shocked, awkward chuckle, Valen looked down into his drink. “Now I believe I asked you to do the talkin’,” he said, and Shine gave him an undying smile. 

 

“You gotta gimme something to work with. Otherwise I’m just gonna make up your life story for ya, and I got the feeling you wouldn’t be too cool with me thinkin’ you’re a time-traveling wizard.” 

 

“You could think that,” Valen offered. “The reality’s a bit boring in comparison, I’m afraid. I’m a woodworker.”

 

“What, like a carpenter?” 

 

“No, like a woodworker,” Valen said, laughing a little. “I build furniture. Own a studio up in Yonkers.” 

 

“Oh, yeah you liftin’ heavy things all day --  that explains the …” Shine puffed out his chest and lifted his arms, imitating Valen’s stature. Valen gave him a little smile.

 

“Aye, I suppose it does. As I said, a bit boring.”

 

“Naw, nothing boring about that,” Shine said, gesturing widely with his drink and sloshing a bit over his fingers. “You’re an artist, ain’t ya? Me too. Not wood, you know, but we all got our thing.”

 

“What is your ‘thing?’” Valen asked, and Shine grinned. It had been so long since he’d had to explain his work to anyone. Most people were very aware of his ‘thing.’

 

“You was right before. Music and all,” Shine said. He  _ had _ told Valen he wasn’t here to talk about work, but that was before he knew that Valen genuinely didn’t  _ know _ . “I’m a violinist. And singer. Guitarist, pianist, you know. Fuckin’ name it, right?”

 

“Oh, that’s quite something,” Valen said. “How does one find himself playin’ all that?”

 

Shine grinned. Valen seemed to want to hear it, and Shine genuinely wanted to talk about it, and though it was well into early morning the night still felt so young. 

 

“I told you I’m a talker,” Shine said. “Last chance to back out of  _ my _ life story, big guy.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Valen said casually, lifting his drink. Though it wasn’t in toast, Shine clinked his glass against it anyway.

 

“Cheers to that, then,” Shine said, and took a long few gulps of his Mai Tai. He set the drink down on the bar, wiping the corner of his lip with his thumb. “So, the music thing? Oh man, okay, so picture this. I’m, like, 10 years old right, walkin’ around Maspeth — that’s where I grew up, in Queens — with my ma, and I hear music like nothin’ I ever heard comin’ from the park…” 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning hit Shine like a train wreck. His curtains usually blocked out the light until about 2 p.m., so the fact that he awoke to a bright beam of sunlight over his eyes was enough proof he had slept too hard. Or, more accurately, that he had passed out.

 

He sat up, head swimming and throbbing, and managed to look around. It  _ was  _ his room -- that was a plus -- and he  _ was _ alone. Unexpected. There wasn’t any evidence someone had spent the night, not in his bed and not in his body, which only bore the usual ache from a night of dancing. Too hungover to be proud of himself for sticking to his conviction not to fuck anyone last night, he realized only an immediate sense of disappointment that he was alone again.

 

Shine cradled his head and looked to his bedside table, grateful to find a glass of water and aspirin there waiting for him. Drunk Shine must’ve been looking out for him. He swallowed the pills down and chugged the water, but only as he wiped the drippage from his lips did he realize there was something else on his nightstand.

 

A note lay by the phone, scrawled in his own handwriting, though it was nearly illegible. Ignoring his still-cottony mouth for now, Shine flopped back on the pillow and grabbed the note, holding it up to read. He wasn’t sure he could recall writing it, but he’d left himself enough notes on blackout nights. It wasn’t unusual, even if a blackout night hadn’t happened in a good, long while.

 

_ Hey you sober fuck _ , it started.  _ I hope you remember the redhead cuz hot damn. _

 

Shine paused. He did remember the redhead. An Irish guy. Name started with a V, he thought, but he couldn’t quite recall. They had talked -- about music for certain. About furniture, he was pretty sure. Why had they talked about furniture? Shaking his head, he read on, figuring the note might jog his memory.

 

_ Names Valen. Don’t forget it!!!!!!  _

 

Whoops. 

 

_ He aint a creep promise. And hes funny and quiet and and he didnt fuck you. Me. us. He didn’t FUCK us. He paid for the cab. CALL CLAUDIA SHE MIGHT BE WORRIED. Even tucked me in. Chivry - _ \- Shine supposed that meant “chivalry.” --  _ aint dead. GET HIM TIX TO CARN. YA PROMISED _

 

Then, a phone number. Valen’s phone number, he guessed. In spite of what he remembered of Valen being pleasant, and his drunk self’s assurance of the fact, he was a little pissed he’d talked to anyone at Bettie’s about work, let alone invited that someone to the defining moment of his young life. Tickets to this show cost 150 bucks on the cheap end, and it had sold out weeks ago.

 

But apparently Shine had invited him anyway. Valen  _ must  _ have left an impression. Shine closed his eyes, recalling the man’s face. He had a gentle smile -- Shine liked that about him -- and he had looked  _ so _ sad. Lonely there in the kind of place people went to meet someone. The kind of place Shine had gone to feel a little less lonely himself. And, to his credit, Valen had indulged Shine’s whims for _ hours _ . They’d stayed there talking through closing. Shine remembered laughing so much his stomach hurt, remembered Valen’s warm chuckle in response. And in spite of his desire to find something in his memory of Valen to be critical of, his chest swelled a little bit as he thought about those bright green eyes.

 

_ Where have all the good men gone … _

 

He sighed, tossing the note on the bed to address later, and forced himself to stand. He’d call his not-quite one-night stand once he was sure it wasn’t another of drunk Shine’s bad ideas.

 

* * *

 

The shower and shave proved revitalizing, as he had hoped, and by the time he stepped out onto the bathrug, he felt a little bit better. He had already called Claudia to assure her he was alive (“I figured you went home with someone.” “Not exactly.”) and called the Hall to be sure he could still put aside a VIP pass this late in the game (“Sir, you’re  _ Shine _ .” “Yeah?” “Of  _ course  _ we can make room for your guest. I hope a balcony seat will do?”) Now as he wrapped the towel around his waist and moved over to the phone, he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to drift to the note still discarded on his pillow. 

 

Running his hand through his still-wet hair, Shine stared at his scrawled writing. He settled down on the edge of the mattress and took up the note once more, marveling at how excited he had been last night when he wrote it, how  _ happy _ he had been, when he had started the night so low. And it wasn’t sex or even dancing that had done it, but  _ conversation _ .

 

And it was only in that moment, running his thumb over Valen’s phone number, that he realized how rare an experience like last night really was for him. He had gone out to the same bar where he’d met countless one-night stands and brief flings over the years, and instead of finding any of that he had sat at the bar and talked to someone. Someone with no ulterior motives, no expectations. Shine shouldn’t have been as excited as he was in that note. This shouldn’t have been abnormal. But how often did he meet anyone genuine anymore? 

 

For some reason, it felt as though a great deal of importance rode on the phone call he had to make now. The possibility of connection he hadn’t felt in so long. If, of course, the guy even  _ wanted _ to come to Shine’s show. He didn’t even know who Shine was.

 

With a sharp inhale, Shine picked up the phone and dialed before he could convince himself not to.

 

A voice answered nearly immediately. “This is Dougherty’s Authentic Designs,” it said. 

 

Oh, he did have a nice accent. But what the fuck was Dougherty’s Authentic Designs? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered Valen owned a furniture studio, but he wasn’t sure of it. Yonkers? Had Valen said he lived in Yonkers?

 

“Hey, uh, is this Valen?” Shine asked, though he knew by the accent alone. He winced and rubbed his eyes, curling his toes into the carpet under his feet.

 

“It is,” Valen said. Shine wondered if Valen didn’t recognize Shine’s voice when it wasn’t drunk and slurring. 

 

“Oh, good, hey, uh this is Shine. Trzebinski. From the bar last night.”

 

“Ah, so you do have a last name. ‘Fraid you were quite tanked last night, insisting that you only needed the one name like The Madonna herself,” Valen said, and Shine could hear the smile in his voice. He smiled, too. 

 

“Yeah, you know. What’s the difference, right? Anyway, I uh remember -- and y’know if I’m wrong just let me know -- but I remember offering you a ticket? To my show tomorrow? I did that, right?”

 

“Oh yes,” Valen said, and he sounded terribly unconcerned. “But I won’t hold you to it. You bein’ drunk as you were.”

 

Shine chuckled. “Yeah, thanks for bringing me home, by the way. And the aspirin and all. That was you, right?”

 

“Yes, but it was no trouble,” though Shine heard a white lie in his voice. He could only imagine the trouble he caused. “I didn’t want to leave you there at the bar alone. You were havin’ trouble standing, even.”

 

“I must’ve been a mess,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry about that, big guy. I promise that ain’t a -- a regular thing.”

 

“It isn’t polite to presume, I always say,” Valen informed him. Shine laid down on the bed, putting a hand to his forehead.

 

“That’s great news for me,” he said. “Maybe we can clean-slate this one, then?”

 

“If you’d like. You’re under no obligation --”

 

“No, no, I -- I admit I might’ve forgotten a _ bit  _ of last night, but I had fun. Talkin’ to you and all. So, uh, yeah if you wanna come to the concert, I got a ticket set aside -- VIP, so you can come backstage after if you want.”

 

The responding silence seemed surprised. “You do?”

 

“Yeah,” Shine said. “And maybe after the show you and me could hang out.”

 

“Yes. About that. Now, I’m not saying no, but you should know that you did a bit of flirtin’ last night, if I dare believe it.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Shine said, confused. “‘Course I did. Big handsome man letting me talk at him all night. What'd I say?” Something in Valen's tone suggested ‘flirting’ might have put it lightly.

 

“It's hard to repeat,” Valen answered evasively. 

 

Oh, no. Berating himself internally, Shine did his best to keep his voice light. “You can tell me, big guy. I ain't got virgin ears, that’s for damn sure.”

 

Valen took a breath, as if preparing himself. “Oral intercourse was offered, as well as something about cowboys and riding -- uhh -- my willie.”

Shine shot up. “What?”

 

If it were possible to hear a blush, Shine was pretty sure he’d hear Valen’s. “Oh, you might’ve asked me a few times to take off my pants. And there were some other requests I don’t think bear repeating.”

 

“I’m sure they  _ do not _ ,” Shine said. Valen sounded quietly mortified, though maybe Shine was just projecting his own embarrassment. He was usually really good at gauging the level of a person’s interest in him. Maybe his drunken self had been blinded by wishful thinking last night. “I’m guessin’ you didn’t, ah, take me up on any of those offers, yeah?”

 

“You were too drunk to be makin’ any decisions about sex, Shine,” Valen said without room for argument. The way he said it made Shine pause.

 

“Did you  _ want _ to take me up on any of those offers?” he asked. It may have been the wrong question.

 

“If that’s all you want, you’ve got the wrong fella.”

 

In the space of a moment, a veritable slideshow of previous partners flickered through his head. People who hadn’t cared how drunk or high he was when he was tearing off their clothes. Sure, Shine was fairly confident given his memory of this Valen that he would’ve enthusiastically enjoyed and consented to a good fuck, but there was a lot to be said for someone who didn’t cross that line. And didn’t want to. And, maybe, wanted something  _ more _ than a good fuck.

 

“Okay,” Shine said, rubbing his forehead. “Listen big guy. I’m gonna be honest, an instinct of mine is just to tell a big guy when I wanna climb him like a tree.”

 

“Aye, that is somethin’ you said, too. You said I was a tree and you were a squirrel.”

 

“That … sounds like me. But you know it ain’t a condition or nothing. I don’t remember coming onto you one little bit, but I remember laughing a lot last night when we was talking. If you wanted to maybe come to my show, and we could meet up after, maybe we could do a little bit more of that. No Mai Tais involved. And nothin’ about trees and squirrels -- or cowboys. Promise.” 

 

“Just to be clear,” Valen said, and it sounded like he wasn’t even sure he wanted to say it aloud, as if he thought he might be  _ wrong _ . “You’re asking me on a date?”

 

Shine smiled, staring at the ceiling, the fan spinning slowly above him and casting its lonely shadows. “Yeah, I’m asking you on a date. I mean, I guess I never did ask if you was even into guys, but seein’ as you was at a gay bar you can’t hate me for assuming.”

 

“I –“ Valen paused. “I  _ could _ go on a date,” he said. “With you. Providing this isn’t a joke of course.” 

 

Shine’s brows drew together. “I dunno what kinda idiot I was last night, but I hope I ain’t done nothing to make you think I’m kidding. You seem real nice, that’s all. Don’t meet a lot of nice guys, or girls really. Not much anymore.” 

 

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Long enough of one that Shine already began to mourn another missed opportunity. He always seemed to come on too strong. But, in fairness, he was used to people expecting that of him, wanting that from him. That was usually  _ all _ they wanted from him. “So,” Shine started, anxious to fill the silence. “Is that a yes? Or a ‘you’d better lose my number right now’?”

 

“That first one,” Valen said, swiftly, as if he hadn’t realized how long he’d been silent. “If you’re sure. And if possible, keep the flirtin’ to something you wouldn’t mind nuns overhearing, if you get my meaning.”

 

“I'm sure,” Shine said in transparent relief. “And I promise I'll wash my mouth out with soap before I see ya next. Might go do that now, come to think of it.”

 

“Then, I suppose I’ll see you at – where was it?”

 

“Carnegie Hall?” 

 

“Right,” Valen said, and the phone shuffled as he  presumably tucked it against his shoulder. Shine heard the shuffle of paper on the other end, too. Like he had to write it down. “Carnegie Hall. Do you have an address?”

 

Shine smiled. Didn’t know Shine, didn’t know Carnegie Hall. Maybe he  _ was _ a time-traveling wizard. “It's  _ Carnegie Hall. _ Middle of Manhattan on 7th. Promise you you can’t miss it.” 

 

“Alright, then I suppose I’ll see you there.” 

 

“You got it big guy. Just come right backstage when it’s over, alright? Got a greenroom where we can chat, figure out where we’re goin after. I – I hope you like it. The show. I mean.”

 

“I’m sure I will,” Valen said, the tone of his assurance like a parent promising a child they’d do great in their school play. Shine, remembering Valen’s admitted taste in music, thought that level of confidence seemed appropriate. 

 

“See you tomorrow, then?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Valen confirmed. “Have a good day, in the meantime.”

 

“Yeah, you too, big guy. See ya soon.” 

 

Shine settled the phone back in the cradle and laid back on his bed, grinning. He hadn’t been on a date in a long time, and certainly not with someone he hadn’t even slept with yet. But this was – this was  _ good _ . 

 

_ If that’s all you want, you’ve got the wrong fella _ , Valen had said. Granted, sex was something Shine absolutely did want, but it had been years since that was  _ all  _ he wanted. He just didn’t know how to do love any other way. In his experience, he’d sleep with someone, decide if he liked them and if they liked him, then keep sleeping with them until, inevitably, they decided they wanted to sleep with other people. He was always trying to turn one-night-stands into relationships. 

 

This way? This way offered a new experience. An experiment, even. Maybe he could just  _ date _ someone, like they did on TV. 

 

But, until after the concert, Shine couldn’t really concentrate on that. He had to focus now, had to prepare, had to practice. Somehow, he felt better about it all, though. Better than he had last night. 

 

The nerves, the vulnerability, the restlessness seemed to have left him. And it was just meeting someone that did it. Meeting Valen. 

 

Harry wouldn’t be there. Shine’s mom wouldn’t be there. Few of his friends who weren’t the fair-weather sort he’d collected since his fame would be there. But the prospect of the concert felt just a little less lonely now.

 

The year was 1985. Shine was 26 years old. And he would be playing a concert at Carnegie Hall tomorrow.


End file.
